


Dirk-Exclusive Barrier

by kiiwritesthings



Series: Punk AU [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Panic Attacks, Punk AU, bros being bros, touch-repulsed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiiwritesthings/pseuds/kiiwritesthings
Summary: Maybe Dirk didn't grow up in an apartment stranded in the middle of the sea, but that doesn't mean he's totally cool with all hands on deck and him being the ship.





	Dirk-Exclusive Barrier

Despite being on stage twenty minutes ago, despite knowing all the risks that come with even an inch of stardom, despite having things thrown on stage- a bra, for some reason, as well as a well winged bouquet of flowers and other such things- neither Dirk nor Dave expect an immediate convergence on point Strider as soon as they hop off stage. Badges are flashed and there’s over-eager yammering about favorite bands and their choice of style and Dirk’s brain stops functioning when several hands meet his bare arm skin with buzzing questions and sweaty palms. It’s not really a choice; he completely blanks on what’s going on for the next twenty minutes to an hour, though his mouth moves and he spits out answers that are, to some degree, acceptable.

He’s pretty sure Dave does most of the talking. Dave always does most of the talking- he’s the social butterfly of the two with awkwardly mutated wings that make him fly a little sideways and crash into trees, but he’s infinitely more confident with entertaining a crowd than Dirk is entertaining the thought of one. The idea that there are people who paid extra to be VIPs and meet them is beyond him- sure, he was told, but the actual concept coming to real life? A lot less comfortable than he expected.

It takes him fifteen minutes to come to his senses after everyone clears out. Their little meeting room is pretty nice; it’s mostly taken up by a large not quite completely square couch that gives a good amount of sinkage for the variety of every ass. The lighting’s pretty good for a backstage room. Vanities line one wall for several more people than the two of them. It’s cozy, in a sense, but Dirk’s breathing is cut off five seconds after he returns from his stupor and the room, unfamiliar and full of easily breakable mirrors, is really not the prime place for him to have a major meltdown.

Fuck that Xanax, apparently.

Warm hands meet his face. He immediately wrenches himself away, which ends up being to the side. The couch is a shocking amount cooler than his rapidly heating skin- he can feel the blood course through his face and in his arms while his heartbeat picks up double time in a quick  _ ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump _ fashion. Everything about the room is suddenly prominent. He can see exactly where the light from the comically rounded bulbs hits his shades and misses to dye his pale skin a gross red with his current state. He can feel the wrinkles underneath his hand from where it’s unconsciously twisting the material of the couch cushion. He can hear something rustling and items being pushed aside, though that one is more lost on him. He can’t get air in. Too much is going out, somehow, and his brain tries to entertain the possibility that he’s developed some sort of gill system that’s making breathing such an arduous task.

His shades are whisked off his face- an extreme moment of momentary discomfort among the rest of the panic setting in- before there’s something blissfully colder being put over his whole face. Life darkens substantially. For a moment, he thinks he’s just passed out and the angel of death is really yanking his soul along to its own specific section in hell, but given the familiar droning voice, he is still very much alive. The filter of his self-made gasmask forces his breaths to be slower and provide the good audio of a Darth Vader-esque inhale and exhale.

Tuning into anything besides that is too much trouble, so he lets the voice fade to white noise and continues with the slow inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The threat of throwing up falls a drastic amount and he presses his palms to either cheek of the mask, taking so much relief in the fact that it’s almost icy to his hot skin.

It’s a while- maybe a couple minutes to an hour, he can’t tell- before a foreign hand touches his arm again. He flinches, but the hands are warm and calloused like a musician. His eyes flutter open to look at Dave. Dave, who’s ever so good at keeping time in their songs, would know how long it’s been by the second, but he doesn’t mention it and Dirk doesn’t ask.

“Doing alright there, bro?”

He licks his lips. ‘Doing alright’ means he’s stopped freaking out, which is a debatable no, but he nods his head anyways. Fingers curl around the edge of the mask. He can’t quite convince himself to pry it off completely, so they just stay there in the moment. Dave looms before brushing some sweaty hair out from under it and then sitting beside Dirk’s head.

“Pretty sure you stopped existing real quick, but you seemed to last well enough. Shit, I guess we can set up like some Dirk-exclusive barrier. An established ‘lose your hands zone’ in the grand scheme of things, inconvenient but brutally enforced…”

Dave’s voice fades from comprehension again, which seems alright, because Dave never seems to have a problem with whether people listen or not as long as they let him talk. Did  _ he _ freak out? Maybe he had a miniature breakdown that Dirk was too catatonic to notice. Maybe he’ll have one later. It’s a mystery that makes him feel worse than he wants to and, carefully, he lifts his arm before offering Dave his hand. It’s an awkward, silent few seconds- neither of them are the type to  _ offer _ affection so much as take it or avoid it- before Dave carefully wraps his fingers around Dirk’s and lets out a tense breath that sounds like it was under pressure for too long.

They sit there for another indeterminable stretch of time before Roxy’s giggling pitches into his hearing and he wakes up to two Lalondes looking very pleased to see both of them napping with each other.  



End file.
